


Human Touch

by Lusa



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lusa/pseuds/Lusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had not walked out of the wreckage of Canary Wharf; that was a new, different man who wore his skin uncomfortably and did not remember what it felt like not to hurt every waking moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Touch

Ianto Jones can't remember the last time he told the truth because every aspect of his life is tinged with lies now. He remembers, in a distant, vague sort of way, a time when this was not the case, but its like trying to remember someone who died when you were a child and who you never knew that well to begin with; utterly impossible. Whoever he had been before had died at Canary Wharf, as surely as the hundreds of people who had been cut down by Daleks and Cybermen that day. He had not walked out of the wreckage; that was a new, different man who wore his skin uncomfortably and did not remember what it felt like not to hurt every waking moment.

He hardly remembers them converting Lisa, because he had been overwhelmed with the sheer, mindless terror of being next, the realization that once they tore her out of his arms he was the one at the front of the line, the one about to be sawed open and refitted like a malfunctioning car. Everything had smelled of burnt flesh and metal and even if he had been able to hear himself think over the screams he would not have been able to. As a result he had not actually processed any of what happened next, just that they were gone, he was safe, and Lisa was screaming.

Hauling her out, on the other hand, was something he remembered every second of in excruciating detail, from the way the hot metal burnt his hands to the fact that she was in too much pain to even know who he was. Looking back on it he has no idea how he found the presence of mind to hide her (in the half empty storage unit he had been using while they decided what to keep as he moved into her flat) or the patience to listen as she tried to tell him what parts of the conversion unit she needed to survive (it had taken over five minutes just to say the words 'conversion unit' alone) or exactly how he had managed to keep his cool and look official enough to sneak back into the tower (apparently even covered with dust and blood the suit he wore made him look professional) and begin removing equipment. He had not panicked because there simply wasn't time. Every ounce of energy had been devoted to getting her to Cardiff and then once that had happened it had all been focused on joining Torchwood. It was only once she was hidden away in the basement of the Hub that everything had hit him, with the sudden shock of a car crash, and weeks later he's still trying to pick himself out of the wreckage and making no progress.

He makes himself invisible because he's terrified that if anyone looks too closely all the lies he's built up around himself will come shattering down like brittle glass. He has no idea when the last time he had a conversation with someone that did not involve a lie was; lying to Torchwood and Jack about Lisa's death, about being boring and bland and uninteresting and certainly not hiding a cyberwoman in the basement, lying to Lisa about how it is all going to be alright and any day now they are going to find someone who can fix her and then they’ll live happily ever after, lying to himself that he can handle all this without breaking down entirely. Its a delicate juggling act, one he's terrified someone is going to notice he's performing so he hides it all behind neat suits and unremarkable expressions and just enough sarcasm to seem normal. It’s desperately lonely.

He can't remember the last time he's had more than three or four hours of sleep a night, before bolting awake, dreaming of smoke and screaming and metal. He doesn't know how many people survived Canary Wharf because he's afraid to look it up, to turn all the people he knew into numbers. Sometimes, out of no where, while cleaning up pizza boxes or alien slime he'll suddenly think of David, who sat at the desk behind his and always forwarded him emails filled with pictures of cats that were supposed to be funny but never were, or the receptionist who was pretty in an unremarkable sort of way and whose name he hadn't even known and then its a rush to the lavatory to be violently sick, or sob as silently as he can or just stare at his reflection in the mirror until his hands stop shaking. Then he cleans up, straightens his tie, and hopes no one has noticed his absence. No one ever does.

He tells himself that its normal, and he's dealing with it and everything is going to get better. There are so many other lies floating around him that he usually manages to believe it.

Some nights he doesn't wake up from dreams of Canary Wharf at all but from ones of Jack Harkness. The brief moment when he had landed on him and rolled out of the way to escape a plummeting pterodactyl should not have been important enough to stick in his mind. He could not had spent more than a few seconds lying on top of him, hypnotized by those eyes and that aftershave smell but he can recall in perfect detail every plane of his body, every soft curve and bit of warmth and he wakes achingly hard, twisted and tangled in the sweat soaked sheets and hating himself for a thousand reasons. He can never look Lisa in the eye on the days after these dreams.

At any other time he could deal with this, could sit down and rationally examine this part of himself and his sexuality and come to terms with it but as it is it becomes just another problem, another issue he has to deal with, one more thing to make him feel like he's drowning. It shouldn't be something that makes him hate himself, but it is. He's always been sort of vaguely aware of it, but purposefully looked the other way, like ignoring it would make it go away and he wouldn't have to be different anymore. It’s not for any of the usual reasons like fear or guilt or conflicting morals. Ianto Jones lives in a world of organization, of tidily alphabetized files and sorted paperwork and the one thing in that world he can't fit in a neatly labeled box is himself. He wouldn't even know what to type into the label maker to begin with because he can't make any words or categories like gay or bi fit comfortably and it's killing him. He's an outsider in a community of outsiders, and it makes him feel like there must be something wrong with him because it shouldn't be this hard.

He tells himself that he only flirts with Jack to keep Lisa safe. It’s superficial and easy and Jack likes that sort of thing. It makes him think he has Ianto and his motives all figured out and keeps him from looking deeper. It gives him an excuse to linger around the Hub at odd hours, and it’s the perfect distraction any time he worries Jack is beginning to get too close to the truth. Of all the lies he has to convince himself of, this is the hardest. No matter how many hours he spends sitting beside Lisa and holding her hand Jack is still the one he wakes up from dreaming about.

The first time they kiss is in the middle of his third week at the Hub, and its completely unexpected. He brings a stack of routine paperwork into Jack's office, and their fingers brush as he hands it to him - unintentionally, he tells himself later. Jack takes the papers from him and tosses them carelessly on his desk, then with no preamble aside from a particularly cocky grin cups his face between his hands and pulls him in for a kiss. It's all heat and tongue and teeth and there's nothing sweet or shy about it at all. The intensity makes his knees go weak, which may actually have been Jack's plan since it forces him to lean closer, melting against him. Its only when he lets out a faint, desperate moan that he comes to himself, the sound snapping him out of the haze that makes his world begin and end with Jack. He takes a step back, the air in the office shockingly cold after the loss of that warm body, and the only thing that stops him rushing right back into those arms is the realization that Lisa is lying in pain and alone two stories below his feet and that makes him arguably the worst person who has ever lived.

Jack's perceptive enough to see that something is wrong, and if he wants to assume that the conflict in Ianto's eyes is over questions of his sexuality and the fact that he just kissed a man - which, to be fair, is a part of it is - that's fine with him. Jack even looks ready to say something so he beats him to it, because he knows all it would take to break him and ruin everything right now is a kind word and real concern. So he clears his throat and asks, "Will you be needing anything else, sir?" It’s a poor shadow of his usual combination of polite sarcasm but its enough and Jack is distracted once more, able to happily convince himself that Ianto wants this because who on earth wouldn't want Captain Jack Harkness?

"Oh, if I think of something I'll let you know," He shoots back with a particularly lecherous smile and Ianto is able to escape and hide in the archives for the half hour it takes for him to regain some semblance of composure. He spends a sleepless night sitting by Lisa's side and staring at her without really seeing her as he tries to justify to himself he has to do this to keep her safe, that how badly he wants it is just a lucky coincidence and when she's better and they're a million miles away from Torchwood relaxing on a tropical beach none of this will matter. It’s the stupidest fairy tale he's ever heard, but he does his best to believe it.

 The next day Jack corners him by the coffee machine. He's so lost in thought the first he knows of it is the hand on his ass. He turns around quickly before it can get too comfortable there. "That's really not going to speed up the coffee, sir." He tries to sound confident, this time, without that telltale shake in his voice. He even manages to look Jack in the eye.

Judging by the way Jack pins him against the counter, he really likes confidence. The kisses are more playful and teasing than last time, but no less intense as though that one sarcastic remark has given Jack all the permission he needs to have fun with this and not to worry that Ianto is going to freak out. One hand goes right back to his ass and judging by the reaction going on up front Jack really enjoys having it there. As for Ianto, well, it’s mildly terrifying how easy it is to forget about Lisa at the moment. He lets himself explore a little bit, lips investigating Jack's admittedly irresistible jaw line and the swoop where he neck meets his shoulders and for one glorious, perfect moment he forgets all about all the shit in his life, all the situations he can't see a way out of and the dark tunnels that are never going to have any light at the end of them.

Jack shoves his thigh between his legs and Ianto finds himself rocking faintly against it, unable to keep still against the pressure. The counter top digs into the small of his back and he shifts slightly, one hand reaching out to balance himself. It knocks a mug off the edge and the sound of it shattering is possibly the loudest and most shocking thing he has ever heard in his life. He and Jack spring away from each other, panting, and he can distantly hear Owen shouting at him to keep it down since he's trying to concentrate - ironic, coming from a man whose been blasting the Gorillaz all morning and making a mess of an alien autopsy Ianto is going to be the one stuck cleaning up.

He and Jack share a smirk, and that moment of camaraderie is almost as good as the kissing. He turns to find a dustpan and Jack leans close, deliberately not touching but Ianto can feel the heat of him, the gust of his breath against the back of his neck and ear. "I'll see you in my office later." It’s not a question, but Jack makes it sound like one, giving him the opportunity to make excuses if he needs to. It’s surprisingly considerate, and the sudden sweetness of it takes his breath away. Jack's good at catching him off guard, and he doesn't like that.

"Yes, sir," He replies, surprised to find he doesn't actually have to think about it. Only after Jack waltzes out, looking immensely pleased with himself does he remember to mentally argue that this is a perfect excuse to stick around in the Hub and check on Lisa this evening.

He lingers after the others leave that evening, taking longer than strictly necessary to dust Suzie's desk and Tosh's computer monitors. This time he notices Jack's approach, expects the hands that land lightly on his hips as he walks up behind him and murmurs quietly, "You know you don't have to do this, right? It's not in the job description or anything like that."

He turns around slowly, staying within the circle of those arms and meeting that always intense blue gaze as he replies, "Just because I'm nervous doesn't mean I don't want to, sir." He thinks that might be the first completely honest sentence he's ever spoken to Jack. The next thing he knows he's braced against the desk in Jack's office with Jack's fingers up his ass and his mouth around his cock and absolutely no idea how he got there but certainly not about to start asking questions. It's been so long since anyone touched him, since anyone noticed him at all. There's not a single place on Lisa's body he can touch without also touching metal, not even her hand and after so long without human contact, so much time spent walling himself off from the world the sensation is overwhelming. Jack probably could have made him come just by holding his hand, although obviously this method is much more preferable.

He doesn't go to Lisa after, but flees back to his flat - empty except for a bed and a few unpacked boxes. He doesn't sleep a wink.

It doesn't take long for Jack to become he only good thing in his life, and even then it’s not really about Jack. Its the contact, the human touch, the fact that in their brief moments together, hastily snatched in the archives or after hours, there is one person in the world who actually looks at him and sees him. Its not love or a relationship or anything like that, but each time, for the tiniest, briefest moment, there will be an instant where he forgets everything, where he feels safe and taken care of and wonderful and its more addictive than any drug.

Their fourth time together he meets Jack in his office after the others have left and is surprised to find the hatch to Jack's living quarters open. He tries not to read too much into it. There's something different about this time, too, something slower and sweeter in the way Jack leisurely unbuttons his shirt then strips off his clothes and presses him back onto the bed, the way he kisses him long and deep as he fucks him and, most especially, the way he stops Ianto as he begins to leave afterwards, murmuring, "Stay," before wrapping his arms around him, hands running warm and sleepy across his back.

Ianto can't decide if its the best or the worst night of his life.

Sometimes, when he's cleaning weapons or walking past the bay he considers just ending it all. It would be so easy to just make everything stop, all the lies and worries and responsibilities and complications, the things that keep him too terrified to either sleep at night or get out of bed in the morning. He even goes so far as to press a gun to his head once, leaving it there for long, tense minutes before dropping it with a gasp, fingers shaking too hard to have pulled the trigger anyway. He practically runs to the basement, slamming the door to Lisa's room shut behind him before collapsing back against it and sinking to the ground. She's unconscious, beyond offering any comfort or help, which also gives him the privacy he needs to sob until his head hurts and he can hardly breath. When he finally finishes he takes few deep breaths to regain his self-control and tells himself another lie as he picks himself up and returns to the Hub.


End file.
